Harry Potter & the Hufflepuff Headmaster
by Sage Defender
Summary: Exploring Hogwarts leads a friendship with a lost portrait whose resourcefulness helps Harry along the rocky path his life travels.
1. Meeting Meles

Night was by far Harry's favorite time to make use of his surprise gift. Any gifts would have made this Christmas the best of his life, but receiving an invisibility cloak had been beyond even the wildest flights of fancy that his imagination could have engineered. This night he decided to let adventure guide him. At each intersection he flipped a coin, as long as neither way seemed to be occupied.

Deeper into the maze of corridors and higher he went until Harry found himself to be tugging on a latched door at the end of a very barren corridor. The hinges seemed to be stuck, but with his whole weight leveraged, Harry managed to shift the door. His determination hadn't accounted for the resounding noise of stubborn hinges, however. As the creaking subsided, Harry's ears were assaulted with a din of disturbed screeches and hoots. Crouching in anticipation of the exodus of the perturbed parliament of owls, he found no need. There was no motion anywhere, leading him to question his assumption that he had found an inner passageway to the owlery. Without risking a bit of light, he would be left to wonder and that wasn't acceptable to his emboldened sense of adventure.

Folding the cloak, Harry lit his wand. With threadbare blankets draped over a mouse-filled mattress and a rickety shelf slowly losing the fight to keep an extensive collection of books on the upkeep and requirements of those flighty feathered messengers from piling on the floor, the room seemed both ordinary and abandoned. Harry had just turned to replace the cloak in search of anything unusual, when a voice like rolling thunder with the gravel tones of unused froze every action: "Hallo?"

Following to the source of the inquiry, Harry found himself facing the portrait of a congenial-looking wizard sporting an aubergine velvet hat whose pheasant feather curved down to brush a rather impressive set of raven mutton-chops His frame had once been a delightful sculpted piece calling to mind owls in flight. But now, the upper edges were deeply gouged from decades of owls finding it a convenient perch. Pushing his round frames back to their correct position, Harry replied, "Hello. I'm sorry to disturb your rest. I'll just be on my way and...erm.." the first-year examined his scuffed shoes before glancing back into the frame.

"By no means should you leave, young Harry, few ever come this way since the last Owl Master retired. It does get a bit lonely to own the truth. Mostly I stay near my frame in the Headmaster's office, but the nymphs two hallways east let me know that you were headed this way. Former Headmaster Meles Pennestrix, you may call me Meles. How are you this night?"

"Fine, I think." Harry cocked his head to the side, wondering whether this would become a reprimand. How did one converse with a painting? Were there guidelines that should be in play? Sure, he had to give the password to one anytime he wanted back into the Common Room, but the Fat Lady had never exactly wanted companionship, from him at least.

"Your talented female friend should be back soon. You and the younger Weasley surely showed your stripes rescuing her from the rogue troll back on Hallow's Eve. Pauline saw it all from her frame near the doorway. She's been to every wing, recounting your loyal bravery. I must say," his long broad nose twitched "Are you not glad that your faithful friendship reaped better than the demerits you deserved? It all could have ended in a much less pleasant manner."

"I guess it could have. Does everyone know what really happened?I mean, the professors and students. I never really thought about how many portraits are here or what all they see. I guess I just figured that you all didn't really care about us."

"Well of course we care. Most of the portraits here don't have anywhere else to go. Even if they did, with all the students and faculty there are so many adventures and intrigues to follow that few visit their other frames for long during the school term. As for who knows what, chances are that Headmaster Dumbledore knows at least the broad-strokes of the matter, he listens well. McGonagall probably knows the truth of the matter, as she is usually quick to suss it out. But I don't think she really minds the difference in this case. It harkens back to some of the more noble larks of your father's tour. What a band of merry mischief their lot was! "

Harry's rubbed his scar briefly, "Wait, I thought you were headmaster forever ago. You knew my father? How?"

"Your father was difficult to not take note of often. His dorm rang with laughter most days and his quick mind and puckish ways were a delightful break from the monotony that learning by rote brings. He and his dorm mates were frequent guests of the Headmaster's office. With their creative reasons for misbehavior, few of the portraits missed one of their disciplinary meetings."

The two continued in this manner. With the former headmaster pleased at the attentiveness of the much-discussed pupil and Harry thrilled to be able to learn so much so quickly without much effort, both would remember this first encounter with contentment. In fact, they set about a standing appointment twice a week at a rendering of the Cliffs of Dover in the Gryffindor boys bathroom. At one such meeting, Harry brought up his search for Nicolas Flamel and received a curt, "We have been restricted from handing out information on Mister Flamel or his accomplishments. However, it can be found in the library with a nice dose of persistence."

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Traipsing about when others could not see you was a delightful and a welcome distraction for Harry. Often in his currently short life, he had wished that his family couldn't see him. Harry was absolutely certain that they often wished the same. He would discover, however, that this mode of exploration was not without its own set of hazards. One had to be very strategic about alibis for spy-time, or else gifted in excuses, to keep the concerned from stumbling upon one's true activities. Also, the cloak did have limitations. Anything with an odor was guaranteed to draw Mrs Norris' attention, visible or not, so liberating food was difficult... as was planting dung-bombs. Add sharing a dorm house with the ever-inquisitive (and suspicious) Weasley twins to the list of obstacles and Harry wondered how he even got away with the little covert traveling that he accomplished. Fred and George would send odd glances his way from time to time that worried the first year, a bit at least.

Sharing his new friendship with others never really occurred to Harry, he preferred not to have to explain it to anyone. However, over the many weeks, the number of painted friends visiting with him regularly continued to grow. None were as loyal with meetings as Meles, but there was quite a variety. Not all the portraits were willing to discuss things with a student, especially one who was neither Prefect nor Head boy, but Harry never noticed. He was getting more gossip than he really cared to know, and would zone out during most discussions of student's personal lives, romantic maneuvering of the 1770's, or fashion trends in general, but the insights about papers and spells were worth all the tittle-tattle that he wished he could forget.

Ron and Hermione had yet to notice, or at least comment on noticing that Harry took longer getting back from meals or practice than was strictly necessary. If pressed, Hermione just stated that Harry was obviously a private person and as such needed time away from others to psychologically recharge as introverts often do, according to PsyToday's Spring edition of last year.

As the school year passed and the time to head back to Privet Drive loomed inevitable, Harry realized how much he was going to miss not only his friends, but also getting to chat with others. If only he could find a portrait to keep in his closet. At least then he would have a chance to talk with someone on a regular basis who didn't actively despise him. But so far, all the portraits seemed to be permanently stuck to the walls and entirely too large to hide under a shirt, even one as baggy as Dudley's cast-offs.

After escaping Quirrell, or possibly Voldemort, and letting Wood down; being stuck in the hospital ward wasn't as bad as it could have been. Especially with all the visitors to the frame near his bed praising his quick thinking actions when saving the Philosopher's Stone. Although, there were quite a number of lecturers mixed in with the well-wishers. Unfortunately, few of the portraits that popped in bothered to introduce themselves,leaving Harry unsure as to how to address them. Many were notable figures in their own time and had a tendency to forget that illustriousness fades all too quickly, and that those raised in the Muggle community weren't given a primer with all of them listed.

A rather unique fellow in black wizarding robes covered in Runes formed from mother of pearl buttons popped up with a bright grin while Madam Pomphrey was checking for expired potions. Almost as soon as he made it firmly into the frame he started in.

"Lor' luv a duck! Harry, my dear Rob Roy. Chicken an' rice job keepin' da fancy Salford Docks aaaht ov da brass bands ove dat tea leaf. He couldna half inch in ov Albus but he went Father Ted. What a Jackanory you could spin with this one. But Thee're still young, hairy knees avoid Stewart Granger for a couple donkey ears awer you might set us to tumble down the sink." Harry blinked a couple of times and nodded, unsure of what else to do. With a "Robin Hood. Sorted Mate!" and quick tip of his hat towards Harry and another for Meles, the portrait left the frame.

"I think it was a good thing, but I'm not sure." Harry let out, his head reeling. "Is Stewart, Hermione's dad? And why should I keep away from him? Are those even the right questions to ask?" He sighed and looked to the ceiling. "Meles, please tell me what he just said."

"Much as I would wish to tell you, his portrait only arrived a few years ago from an estate in London. Communicating can be quite challenging. There is a well spoken chap in the Slytherin dorms that translates him fairly well as far as we can ascertain." Meles sighed watching as a couple of the many painted snakes left their post across the ward.

As much as he was dreading the vacation, Harry was eagerly anticipating another year in this castle that had become a home.

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JUST A NOTE: Hopefully this was as much fun to read as it has been to write. This is a severe re-edit of a fic I posted on SIYE awhile back under the title _In the Palette Life Hands to Us_ which I will gladly extend if there is enough interest to appease the Muse.

For those curious about what the Pearl King said, it goes something like this. "Hello Harry, dear boy. Nice job keeping the fancy rock out of the hands of the thief. He couldn't pinch (steal) it from Albus without ending up dead. What a story you could spin with this one. You are still young. Please avoid danger for a couple of years or you might set us to drink." Robin Hood means good and Stewart Granger is not Hermione's dad but Cockney rhyming slang for danger. Poor Harry was lost.

Rowling's work is her own I claim none of it. If it is in my story and you don't recognize it, that insignificance is what I own.

Thanks to Pleurocoelus and Maralle for keeping the fic readable. I shamelessly delight in reviews.


	2. Communicating Conundrum

Second year at Hogwarts was not starting nearly as well as his first, but seemed to blend almost seamlessly into the horrid months of summer preceding it. Harry felt certain that the entire school or at least the gallery of Hogwarts was going to be thoroughly apprised of his awkward arrival and subsequent dressing down, the alleged underage magic was also probably already known. In fact, the odd mixture of expressions on the un-aging faces on canvas, ranging from condescendingly disapproving to the impish delight on the ribbon bedecked Fae-Ring Lass, gave him warning of the reprobation and encouragement coming in any quiet moments until something, anything could upstage this semi-accidental rebellion. Oh how he hoped Malfoy would manage to set Professor Snape's robes aflame or maybe one of the upperclassmen could sit on Professor Flitwick again!

Meeting Hermione outside the Gryffindor entrance and being greeted by an impromptu party of mostly-thrilled students didn't delay the dread settling in the pit of his stomach. Sure, it was a lark to George and Fred, but certainly the professors wouldn't share the joy of the moment. When he spied Percy, puffed with indignation and lecture, making a warpath towards him, Harry abruptly quit his conversation with a first year shutterbug and hurried to exit to the relative safety of the Second Years bedroom. Though he managed to escape the prefect, he and Ron were then hounded by their roommates' queries until all climbed exhausted into their own beds. Harry feigned sleep until the snores and even breathing told him all were asleep.

Figuring that he had delayed the meeting for as long as he could without making it all even worse, Harry adjusted his socks so that the hole no longer exposed a whole toe and shuffled his feet on their way to the bathroom to face the congress of painted peerage. It was a real toss-up as to who and how many would feel the need to lecture tonight. Nothing could be done to fix the past.

A quarter of a hour or so later, Harry thought his hated "The-Boy-Who-Lived" title was well earned in one night even if he wasn't sure that he was actually still living. Arguments had erupted as the portraits in support of his arrival and those dismayed by the disruption that it caused simultaneously tried to reprimand, reward, and question Harry in depth. It all ran together, lava pooling deep in the gut of the green-eyed youth, until he simply had to act or lose his composure completely. Harry could have left and skipped what was sure to be a trying experience, but life had taught him that delaying encounters with passionate people just added more issues, awkwardness, and hurt than letting all the venting take place as soon as violence was unlikely. Even so, he did need to get the queue of commentators moving soon so that he could visit the land of Nod with his pillow at hand tonight.

First, he tried raising his voice, but drowning out so many other voices proved to be difficult. So he tossed a bit of toweling over the frame until everyone quieted down a bit.

Removing the cloth, Harry hurriedly apologized, "Please, I am sorry for that, but classes begin in the morning and if I get sleep tonight, it might be better for everyone. How about I tell everything first and then you may decide who all needs to have their say? Maybe just a few spokespersons?" Eying the frame filled with witches and wizards like some bizarre iWhere's Waldo/i book, Harry took the blinking response as affirmation and began the twisting tale of his summer and the odd events that led to being sequestered in Professor Snape's office with unlimited sandwiches and many regrets. Then came the questions: technical questions, emotional ones, nonsensical ones, on and on interspersed with mini-lectures and gushes of praise until the crowded cliff picture thinned out. By the end of the question and lecture session, it was down to Meles (who seemed determined to stay to the end) and a rather attractive lady wearing a purple hooped dress with emerald ruffles and almost golden eyes.

The young lady, it seemed, was Aenathia Hywel from the Ravenclaw dormitories and Harry wished that he could hex whoever it was that had seen fit to read books of psychology aloud in her presence. Rather than sticking to the appearance of the house-elf and all the mischief that ensued, Miss Aenathia decided that exploring how he felt about his mother's sacrifice and being all but ignorant of the magical world that he had been born into but pulled from was the perfect subject. It was more draining, emotionally and physically than anything Harry had ever experienced. Meles must have seen the exhaustion in the slumped shoulders of the thin boy, as he sternly called a halt after she asked whether seeing his own eyes in the mirror brought feelings of guilt, loathing, or a sense of unworthiness at the reminder of his long-lost mother. The former headmaster had to remind her of the boy's desperate need for sleep before she turned and strode off with an almost military precision at odds with the extravagant ball gown. Meles had decided that encouragement was in order after the emotional scourging and praised Harry for his acceptance and perseverance through the trials of life. Harry stumbled back to bed glad that Ron would be at his side dealing with the same censure tomorrow.

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Life at school seemed to roll along gently with schoolwork getting steadily more challenging as the days passed, evening spent struggling through essays under Hermione's supportive eye with glorious chess & exploding snap breaks with Ron. Even his chats with the portraits seemed fairly regular until after the first detention of the year, when a seemingly disembodied voice taunted him alone. Naturally, he asked Meles about it in hope that he wasn't actually losing his sanity from the fumes in Potions or boredom in Professor Lockhart's class. Just for safe measure, he asked the helpful fellow if the paintings had seen anyone acting unusual. After all, it could have been a charm that Fred or George had somehow put on him.

Harry's eyes found a flash of color pulling his focus from Ron's spirited dissertation on the Cannons' current defensive strategy and onto the wizard waving both arms amid the grazing sheep of a small pastoral painting, stepping over an elegant viper coiled in one patch of sunshine. Meles needed to speak with him soon then. Hopefully he had a good lead regarding the voice Harry had heard in Lockhart's office.

Ducking into an alcove under the guise of checking for a misplaced book, Harry waited for Meles to join the slumbering dragon in his darkly lit cavern. In the hushed tones of a teenager after curfew, he said "The voice that you heard. Did it sound unusual in any way?"

"You mean besides the whole 'Let me kill you.' thing? No, just a murderer on the loose taunting about to my ear." Wiping his face, Harry sighed. "Sorry. I know what you mean, I'll have to think about it a bit. The words sort of caught my attention more than any of the rest. Why? Is there something I should know?"

"We aren't sure at this time. A number of possibilities that could use pruning. Your two companions could perchance notice one detail that your senses dismiss. If you feel comfortable, do share your dilemma with them. Let us know if you remember any tidbit about the voice." Meles left the smoldering lair deep in thought.

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After a Quidditch game, the only bright spot of which being a win over Malfoy and the Slytherin team, Harry rested fitfully in the hospital wing. Professor Lockhart managed in his inimitable way to take a broken arm and make it worse with a smile by deboning it. The spell might be useful after a successful fishing trip, but not so much for a Quidditch injury. Now Harry had to wait for the arm to mend itself with the help of Madam Pomphrey's irritating potion. Even the joy at snatching the snitch from Malfoy's grasp hadn't help detract from the odd sensation of a million insects digging away inside his arm as bones reknit themselves. Harry tried valiantly to pretend to sleep in hope of actually sleeping eventually. He lay wishing that Ron & Hermione had been allowed to stay and give him some kind of distraction. Sure, a chess game would be impossible for himself, but watching his studious friend try to overcome the chess board by lecturing the pieces on fair play and non-violent conquest would be a diversion.

Of course, when distraction came in the form a supposedly protective, possibly sadistic, certainly obsessive Dobby the house elf, Harry was ready to renounce his previous wish for company completely. Following that up with concerned professors escorting the usually enthusiastic Creevey who was currently just a nudge away from being statuary. Harry returned to the delightful pastime of faking a deep slumber while growing a new radius and ulna. All through the rest of the night, he tried keeping an ear out for any portraits who might show up in the still empty frame nearby. None came and by morning the silence felt far from encouraging.

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Back from his brief stay under Madam Pomphrey's care, Harry met Meles at the regular time, after his dorm mates are asleep. Trying to stay as comfortable as one is able in a washroom while talking to a painting, Harry shifted to ease the weight from his now numb right foot as former Headmaster Pennestrix finally came to the point.

"It is difficult to tell if any of the first years are behaving in a peculiar fashion for themselves. One Ravenclaw wanders about unshod regularly, but doesn't seem up to anything. The Hufflepuff first years aren't straying far from one another. Slytherin's new crop don't seem to be sneaking about any more than usual, although a couple act as if they are planning a prank.

"Gryffindor... Well, that lot has always tended to go brazenly as they wish and find themselves in unexpected places, so it goes with this class as well. Some of them are a bit weepy, but that is often nothing more than longing to be back in the familiar arms of home. One first year seems almost permanently affixed to his camera and has temporarily blinded quite a few portraits, but just seems a tad overly eager to document every aspect of Hogwarts.

"A couple of the prefects seemed suspicious to us as they often veered to odd places at unusual times. However, we discovered that it was simply a liaison not a conspiracy. We are still keeping watch, but not all the artwork wants to be involved since the order didn't come down from Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Searching would be much simpler if our ranks hadn't been infiltrated by a whole mess of smiling pompous gits! Lockhart brought so many portraits with him, and all of images his own, the overstuffed popinjay. The Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor can only be watched by those able to feign interest in whatever drivel the lot of Lockharts choose to drone on about. It takes a stalwart individual as apt as they are to give offense with unsolicited advice. One actually suggested that I should put rolling papers in my hair each night to become a more attractive image, the cheekiness! As if that had any sway on the threat to our school! It is a great shame that while Hogwarts has been rid of all other cocks, that one is allowed to crow about in the hallowed halls. And so many of him to deal with on our end, all unwilling to share anything but their own glories!" Meles lowered his white streaked brows with a growl, looking even more like the badger that had graced his house's seal. Transforming his growl into a rumbling sigh, Meles met Harry's eyes. "Please don't spread that about. Not that you ever would. You, dear lad, seem to understand the value of confidences. Such a trait will serve you well. We considered using animals to watch with those ponces, but seems short on beast-speaker portraits, more's the shame. "

"About the voice, you asked if I remembered anything unusual. I'm not sure, but it sounded a lot like a loud whisper laid over a leaky inflatable. Does that make any sense? The words all seemed to rush past me like a wind and … well, that is the best I can think to describe it. Is that any help? Ron and Hermione couldn't hear anything at all." Harry said in a hopeful tone.

Meles had gone extremely pale, almost faded before responding. "I do think that will help. This must be shared with the others. Forgive me, but I really must go."

Harry went back to his studies with a mind full of the news that his painted friend had shared. He really had hoped that something of worth would have been discovered. Allowing the Heir of Slytherin to roam the halls freely couldn't be healthy for anyone.

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With the steady beat of classes and homework, and the sweeping movements of Quidditch practice and games, the march of time steadily passed punctuated by cautious glances from those who chose Harry as the cause of all that had occurred. The fact that he had been in the hospital during the attack on Creevey didn't have weight in the balance of blame. Last night had been even more frustrating, dueling class had seemed like a great idea when he had heard about it. Now it was just another piece of evidence against him. How was he to know that most wizards didn't understand reptiles? There wasn't exactly an "Intro to Wizarding" film to watch before joining this world or a guidebook to use as reference, even a few notecards would be of immeasurable assistance. Nope, all he had was the information he could glean from those around him. Now, not only did everyone know that he had more in common with a dreaded dark wizard, but the boy he had saved had been all but turned into one of Narnia's White Witch, Jadis' lawn ornaments before he could explain to Justin what had actually been hissed. Naturally, he had been the one to discover it. His steps faltered as he continued up the spiral stairway to Headmaster Dumbledore's office. If he didn't know better, it all seemed like a plot to make the wizarding world, where he had felt free to grow, despise and distrust him.

Seeing all the portraits filling the Headmaster's office, Harry searched out a familiar face and found Meles Pennestrix's frame high above the shelf holding a well-known, tattered hat. Just as he was about to greet the former Headmaster, Meles disappeared off the edge of his portrait, leaving a sunny window filled with two mismatched owls and a ledge full of various waving plants. A bit hurt at being dismissed by the one friendly face he could depend upon in this strange room, Harry chatted with the Sorting Hat instead, loosing some of his hurt frustration on quizzing the perplexing headgear and hoped his painted friend would share more later.

Setting aside the hat after a thought-provoking aside, Harry found his gaze drawn to a bird that would have looked more at home as the merchandise at a Chinese meat market stall. Mostly plucked and glass-eyed, two of the handful of remaining feathers floated to the pile littering under the perch, before the whole bird seemed to suffer from a sudden case of spontaneous combustion. Harry had no idea what to do. He prepared his wand to produce water to extinguish the bird while an errant thought crossed his mind. If chickens could do this, roasting them would be a great deal less messy and time consuming for Sunday dinner.

The fire extinguished just as quickly as it had begun without the need for any controlling. Compared to a bird turning into one of the Fantastic Four, the rest of Harry's meeting with Dumbledore seemed almost bland. Harry appreciated that at least the faculty didn't seem to think he was going to have an all-out petrifying spree when everyone least expected it, but that wouldn't make dealing with his fellow students that much easier. Resolutely, Harry headed back to Gryffindor tower to a group who didn't fear him to wait until he could find out what it was that had former Headmaster Pennestrix rushing out of his frame.

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The rest of Harry's evening went well considering that it had followed couple of days that had gone as smashingly as a frozen tundra beach bash. He chatted a bit with his friends, but mainly watched. Fred and George were staging a whole two-person play on how Harry could use his new-found power as the Heir of Slytherin to win the Quidditch cup before becoming a professional seeker in his fifth year by stopping all the competition in their tracks, literally, or frightening them away with his hordes of winged snake servants. Their idea of a house entirely staffed by serpents was a bit over the top, but them all over. The whole time, Percy's face was a livid radish as he tried to maintain dignity and put a stop to the twin's grandstanding.

Most of the rest of the Gryffindors seemed to enjoy the spectacle, but one girl's face was blanched with a green tinge creeping in. Finally Percy pointed out that the twins were making their little sister ill and he would write their mother if it they didn't stop that instant. Few things could still Fred and George when they were on a streak, but the threat of their mother was the best of the lot. Hermione's huffy sighs of repressed complaint finally ceased as the tales did as well. So the rest of the evening was much more subdued, even if parchments were being passed with all sorts of improbable and exaggerated ideas for the life of the Slytherin Heir sketched on them and a trail of giggles following their development.

Eventually, as with every day, the students drifted to bedtime routines and Harry waited to hear Seamus' occasional whistling snore before slipping out to rendezvous with Meles.

"Even the stodgiest portraits are willing to share information now. It has become a matter of protection and self-preservation. Students and ghosts being affected by the same thing! So there is a chance that we would be petrified as well, and no wizard has figured out how to dose a visage with Mandrake. The change could very well be permanent and none want to risk that." Meles looked off the edge of the canvas, his eyes unfocused. "Since the dueling club yesterday and the incident today, quite a few paintings have come forward with what they believe to be vital intelligence. News is still spreading to some of the less-social portraits, I hope to hear before the morning all that is worth hearing and probably a good bit that is not.

"When you were coming into the headmaster's office, my presence had just been requested by a group who believe that they saw the culprit fleeing. Aenathia is tracking the lead now. She is nothing if not thorough. When more is known, I will arrange a meeting."

Harry thought this sounded as likely to work as anything and told his canvas friend so. "Are Parselmouths really that rare? Surely there is another student or professor that can talk to snakes. There must be someone else who could be Slytherin's Heir"

"It is true that there have always been very few witches or wizards with the gift of serpent tongue. Over the past three hundred years we have had less than five in Hogwarts. However, not all have been evil, by all reports. Not much more is known. I can only recall that when the Chamber of Secrets was last opened one female, a student, lost her life. She has been miserable ever sense, but Headmaster Dippett took care of it and there were no more petrification or deaths."

"A girl died? What girl? Why hasn't anyone mentioned it before?" Harry had trouble figuring out how anyone's unnatural death could ever be deemed irrelevant. Surely someone would have connected her death to the all-but-dead students stuck up in the hospital ward.

Meles tugged and twirled his sideburns a bit. "We don't normally talk about her if we can help it. She makes everyone uncomfortable most of the time and was genuinely unhelpful after her demise. All she wanted to do was torment the girls who had been quite unkind to her and sent her to hide where she was killed. Getting any sense out of Myrtle is a feat, I assure you. Hyacinth had hung just inside the door for over a hundred years, but couldn't stand the constant complaining and has relocated to various other paintings on a practically permanent basis. Currently, she has been sharing a frame with the Muses in the western 4th floor hallway. "

Harry startled at the mention of the depressed ghost who haunted the girls toilet. His adventures brewing Polyjuice potion had made him very aware of her presence in the first floor girls lavatory. "Myrtle, I have met, she was at Nearly-Headless Nick's Death-Day Party. Mrs Norris was found near her haunting grounds. Do you think Myrtle might have seen or heard something? I could ask if you like, she seemed willing to chat with me last I saw her."

"Perhaps she might have noticed something of import. If you are willing, all to the better. We should gain the information tonight if possible. With the help of your cloak, you should be there and back again without anyone the wiser. I will help with the Fat Lady, she won't realize that you ever left or returned." Meles hurried to open the portal connecting Gryffindor Tower to the rest of the castle.

Harry and Meles learned little from Myrtle about current events, but she was the happiest either had ever seen her discussing her death. She recalled hearing a boy talking a kind of hissing made up language before seeing a pair of large eyes and then nothing. Harry was willing to continue chatting with the melancholy spirit, but the former headmaster escorted him back to his bedroom with much alacrity. Harry tried to ask Meles to please check on Ron's sister Ginny, since she seemed so different from she had been at the Burrow, but wasn't sure his question had been heard as the portrait scurried off quickly. Understanding the logic of a headmaster who lived before even his great-grandparents were born was not on Harry's list for the night. He tried to leave it all in Meles capable hands and just rest, since trouble was sure to stir up soon. It was one of the few constants in his young life.

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 _Just a Note:_

 _For all the wonderful people who got a notification that this chapter had posted earlier,_

 _I would like to apologize for any frustration, confusion, or any other negative emotion caused. Honestly, I have no idea why the link would not load the second chapter. As you are able to read this, some of the absolute and utter madness that I attempted using multiple devices managed to work. Huzzah! WooHoo!, and any other happy exclamations that you wish to add!_

 _Thank you for reading! Let me know if there is any of it is enjoyable, if it isn't too much trouble._

 _Always,_

 _SD_


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